


cafuné

by enanaiohnnv



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I love him, M/M, donghyuck punches a wall and stuff, i wanna give donghyuck a hug, so very slight sh, tw panic attacks, us ppl with anxiety that makes us aggressive need THERAPY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 18:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17903555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enanaiohnnv/pseuds/enanaiohnnv
Summary: He stared at the man across from him, who practically tossed his paintings back, with no consideration of the hours upon hours he spent perfecting each detail. His paintings were just that, perfect. Sometimes, he wonders if it's because they’re so hyper realistic that he gets rejected every single time he tries to submit to this stupid gallery. They liked weird things. Hyuck just took a deep breath.“Thank you for looking through them, sir.”orDonghyucks a struggling artist with anxiety who's so sad that it's affecting his relationship. Mark's an office worker who loves to cook. Their relationship is complicated, but if one thing is for certain, they love each other.





	1. the cook and the painter.

**Author's Note:**

> hello sorry if this is bad its like the second fic ive ever finished !
> 
> also a big theme in this is donghyucks anxiety and self esteem issues, he has a couple of panic attacks so be careful if things like that make u uncomfy!!!!!!!!!!!

CAFUNÉ 

Verb 

the act of tenderly running one’s fingers through a lover's hair.

\--

Mark, in all of his sweaty, ‘I’ve been sitting at a desk all day but I still smell’ glory, threw down his keys onto the table, shouting an unanswered “I'm home!” in what he presumed was Hyucks general direction. He made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbing an open coke that had been left on the side and downing it. It had gone flat and there was barely two mouthfuls left, but, nevertheless, Mark sighed and smirked slightly at the taste. For some reason. This man's behaviour was an absolute mystery, even to himself. He jumped up onto the counter, slouching and groaning as his tired legs finally get to rest. He stretched his muscles, the aching lessening as he drinks in the warm, homeliness of their apartment. It smelled like gingerbread, and for a second, Mark got excited. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t any cookies. Hyuck had lit an autumn candle. What a waste. Running his hands through his hair, he took a big deep breath and sighed, resting his eyes. When he opened them, he was met with the sight of his boyfriend, in the dining room. In the first year of living there, they never once used that room; opting to eat watching the tv instead. This is why they converted it, best they could with lots of tarp, into his very own painting studio. Donghyuck sat with his easel, so caught up that he didn’t mutter a word to mark.  

 

Every time he watched him paint, Mark found it impossible to tell where his boyfriend ends and his instrument begins. Before he met Hyuck, he scoffed at people who said they became ‘one with their art.’ What pretentious bullshit, right? But as the paint connects with his canvas, and the colours strew out onto it, creating a world in which Mark has never imagined, he found himself smiling. He understands now, that when people are so passionate about things, they put a tiny piece of their soul into each thing they create. Chuckling slightly to himself, He thinks that Hyuck looks absolutely beautiful. The dots of brightly coloured paint scattering his golden skin, and delicate hands moving fluidly, the used paintbrush tucked behind his ear, tangling with the messy, unkempt locks of coffee hair that framed his round face, turning it multicolored. His eyes were wide and round, focused on nothing but the canvas in front of him, and his tongue peeped out of his mouth as he concentrated on a particularly thin stroke of paint. Mark silently cooed at the scene.

 

Hyuck let out an overly dramatic eye roll, trying and failing to hide his smile.

 

“I can feel you staring ” he laughed, as he placed his paintbrush down and stretched out his hand. He finally turned his head from the easel to meet Marks eyes. Hyuck knew that he was cute, but to be stared at for over five minutes whilst hes painting was a little obsessive, even he knew that.

Quickly, the other piped up, defending himself. 

 

“It's not my fault that my artwork is making his own artwork.” 

 

He scoffs, offended at the notion that he wasn’t allowed to look at the beauty that was held in front of him. 

 

“It's a miracle happening right here in our dining room.”

 

Hyuck felt his tummy flip at the words and his cheeks heat up. Five years into a relationship, and Mark still knew how to make him feel cherished, still knows exactly what to say to make him feel like he’s on cloud nine. 

 

“Shut up.” is all he managed to stutter out. 

 

Mark just smiled back, fondly. 

It was all pretty gag worthy stuff, but who am I to judge? I'm just a disembodied voice. Anyway, after the two looked at each other for a few moments, Hyucks stomach let out an almighty grumble, and quickly reminded him that he’s been painting for over 5 hours, and that his boyfriends cooking is unbelievably tasty. Mark laughed at him. 

“Are… are you cooking tonight?” Hyuck asked, hesitantly. He loved when Mark cooked, his food was beautiful. It always makes him feel so satisfied, it's like a warm hug whenever he takes a single bite.

 

“Of course. You deserve it.”

 

They shared a smile as Mark hopped down from the counter and grabbed his apron, Hyuck walked up to their bedroom to take a shower, and quickly placed a kiss on the cheek to Mark as he passed. They both blushed.

 

...Gross!

 

***

 

They ate their dinner quietly, their growling stomachs finally tamed. Mark stared at the other intently, mapping his face, eyes growing soft when he saw how his cheeks puffed up as he chewed, as he saw his dimples appear and disappear, as he saw his soft hair flop into his eyes, still slightly damp from his shower. Hyuck looked tired. The droopy eye bags, the lethargic movements, the sad sighs. Mark knew that he hadn’t been resting as much as he should, that he's been spending too much time in his studio, but he never knew how to tell him that he ‘has to stop painting, the gallery can wait, you're more important.’

Just as Mark was about to say something to him to try and persuade him to come straight to bed, Hyuck cut the silence, saying the sentence Mark knew was coming, but wishes wasn’t. 

 

“I'm gonna go and paint.”

 

“...okay.” 

 

They shot each other sad knowing smiles. Hyuck kissed Mark gently and thanked him for the food, walking away and closing his door. Mark rubbed his temples. He wanted to talk to Hyuck. He wanted to hug him so tight and never let go and make sure he knows that anything he makes is amazing, but Mark knew better than to get between Hyuck and his painting, so he cleans up quickly, peeks his head into Hyucks studio, says goodnight, and heads straight to bed. 

 

***

 

Mark wakes up to the sound of water running. In his half asleep state, he put two and two together and figured Hyuck is taking another shower after doing more painting. Mark rolled onto his side to face the bathroom, waiting for him to come out, but as he did he noticed the time on his alarm clock. 5AM. For fucks sake. He sighed and fought back a groan. The flow of water stops, and Hyuck emerges a few minutes later, a bundle of fluff. Fluffy pajamas and even fluffier blow dried hair, his eyes tired and squinty, and cheeks full.

 

“Fluffy” Mark mutters under his breath.

 

“What?”

 

“Fluffy! Come to bed”

 

Hyuck smiled at him and climbed into bed, nuzzling into the other and slowly interlocking their hands. Hyuck was still a bit damp and his hands were clammy, which is a bit gross, but Mark didn't seem to mind.

 

“It's late, Donggie,”

 

“I know.”

 

“You have to sleep more,”

 

“You’re not my mom.”

 

“Well I'm sorry that I care about you, but you worry me.”

 

“My deepest fucking condolences, Mark.”

 

Yikes. Mark sighs. Bringing up Hyucks behaviour when it comes to his sleeping and his overworking is never a good idea. Mark kisses him goodnight, as he does every single time he's awake when Hyuck comes to bed, and closes his eyes. He doesn't fall asleep quickly, but as soon as soft snores and heavy breathing from the other fill the room, it lulls him to sleep in minutes.


	2. the santa monica pier

   
A very tired Hyuck locks himself in the so called studio all day the following day. The smell of the paint waking him up when he opened the door, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he picked up his brushes and pallet, and got straight to work. He painted and painted until his hand ached, and then painted some more. He was currently on the final details of a beautiful painting of the Santa Monica Beach pier — all the tiny, intricate details were perfected, down to the last hair on someones head. The bright colours from the lights and the big wheel seemed like they were really emitting light. It was amazing, truly Hyucks favorite work, and definitely mine. 

 

Just as he was signing off the finished work, he heard the front door shut. Was mark really home from work already? Had he been painting for that long? Fuck. The pallet that was now a mix of every colour under the sun, was placed down carefully along with his brushes, and Hyuck got to work swilling them, just as Mark opened the door.

 

“Hey, darling” he began, rubbing his temples. “I've had a really bad day at work, this bitch tried to test me so I brought home some chick- hey! You finished it! I love it!” Mark rushed over to the painting to take a closer look. He was in awe, as should be everyone when they see Hyuck’s work. “This is amazing.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Anyway!” Mark stood up straight and clapped once, making Hyuck flinch. He had a headache, Marks enthusiasm was too much for him right now.

 

“As I was saying, I wasn't sure what we had in the house for lunch — and I need some comfort food — so I bought us some takeout on my way home, you didn’t have chicken for lunch did you? Because I have a lot of chicken in that bag” he was right. It was a lot of chicken. Family size in fact.

 

Hyuck tensed up. Shit. lunch. He's suddenly very aware of the fact he hasn’t ate or drank anything all day, save for that glob of paint when he accidentally started to chew on the wrong end of the paintbrush. He still had a blue tongue. 

 

“I uh- I had. I had this noodle... thing. It was in the fridge,”

 

A thing you should know about the chestnut haired boy is that he is a very bad liar. 

 

“We don’t have any noodles.”

 

The cogs turned in Marks head, and he realised how long Hyuck must have been cooped up in that fucking room. “Donggie! Did you even have breakfast?”

 

He just shook his head.

 

“For fucks sake, Donghyuck!” Mark exclaimed. 

 

Hyuck span around to face him rather than washing his brushes. His face was angry, but Mark saw past that, saw the eyes. The sad, frightened eyes.

 

“Why are you angry at me! You said you liked the painting, I'm not hungry, and I needed to work! I'm trying to create a living Mark! You know, so I can fucking pay for things and not leech off you?”

 

“You have to eat! I can't believe I have to tell you this! You’re not five years old!” Mark took a deep breath. “And you’re not leeching off me. I'm the main provider right now, that's how it's always been, and I'm fine with that, it's how a fucking partnership works.”

 

They just look at each other for a while. Mark sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Every single time I try to be a caring boyfriend, you take out your anger on me. What am I meant to do, Donghyuck?” He sounded sad, the sentence coming out as more of a whisper. 

 

Mark goes to leave the room, and presumes the footsteps following him are Hyuck coming out to eat with him, but as he steps out of the room, the door shuts behind him with a click, with Hyuck still on the other side. Mark turned around slowly, stared at the door, and a few hot tears spilled over onto his cheeks, but he took a few deep breaths and wiped them away. He grabbed two plates, dished up the chicken and placed Hyucks, overflowing with over ¾ of the chicken that Mark bought, in front of the door. He just knocked and went to go and sit on the sofa and eat his own. He watches television and hears the door open and close. When he looks over, the plate has gone, but Hyuck’s still nowhere to be seen.

 

That night, Mark was still awake and reading when Hyuck finally cracks the bedroom door open. 

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

They both say it in unison. Hyuck sighs and jumps on top of mark, burying his face into his neck. Mark takes a few seconds, but he brings his arms around him, placing a gentle kiss onto his hair before moving is hand up to stroke it gently.

 

They lay like this for a while, just existing together and breathing in sync, before Hyuck rolled off and finally got under the duvet. Before he could turn and face the wall to go to sleep, Mark grabbed his chin and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “You’re not getting out of it that easy.” they both let out a tiny laugh.

 

“Nigh.t”

 

They didn't sleep much that night, both lying awake for hours before the darkness finally sent them into a slumber. 

 

***

 

Days turned into weeks, and the air between the lovers hadn’t cleared. In fact, the best way to describe the household was plain and simply awkward. The two have their arguments, very often in fact, especially in this recent year, but this one seemed to stick to them like glue. Maybe it was the door-shutting-in-his-face situation. Dick-move, Hyuck. They didn’t speak much, the most talking was over what Mark was cooking, and when they were in bed, exchanging a few sentences about their day before Mark gives the other his signature goodnight kiss, and they go to sleep with their backs facing each other. 

 

Mark laughed along at his coworkers joke. Hyuck spilled a tub of paint onto a drying painting. Mark took a sip of his coffee and listened to his boss tell a story about his wife. Hyuck started to cry and desperately wipe off the white paint. Mark cracked his neck and got back to work, listening to music and smiling. Hyuck slid down the wall, his paint covered hands covered his face as he sobbed.

 

“It's all going wrong,”

 

Hyuck hiccuped, speaking to himself, 

 

“It's all going fucking wrong. Fucking hell!”

 

He got up and stared at the ruined painting for a few minutes. The anger and sadness that was bubbling up in his chest was unbearable, a cocktail of poison and venom that was bubbling and threatening to overflow. 

 

And overflow it did.

 

Hyuck punched the wall, and then punched it again. He fought the plaster until his knuckles were bleeding, until he felt the potion calm down, that's when he started crying again. It was truly a somber sight. Hyuck felt absolutely, positively sad. There was no better and fitting word than wholeheartedly sad. He ached, his chest felt empty yet filled with water at the same time. His head felt heavy and fuzzy, and he held it in his hands as he sat against the wall once more and watched his hot tears fall off his face and onto the floor. 

 

He sat there for an hour or so, he had stopped crying but the weight and sadness that enveloped him and hung around him in the form of too thick air, unbreathable oxygen that got trapped in his lungs and made it feel as if he was drowning was still very prominent. The feeling of his chest caving in was the only thing Hyuck could feel, hear, see, and taste. The disgusting, repulsive feeling was so overwhelming; Hyuck found himself grabbing his hair so hard that some of it was starting to come off into his fingers. He was so focused on this that he didn’t register the front door opening, the running footsteps, and Marks smooth voice shouting and pleading for him to look at him until his own hands were foreably yanked from his head by a bigger, colder pair. He looked up, his eyes meeting Marks. He felt a lot more now. Seeing his eyes made him so acutely aware of his own and Mark’s existence, and the panic started to bubble again. He was a failure. As an artist, as a son, as a member of society, as a person. 

 

As a boyfriend.

 

He thought he was telling Mark these things, but when he let out a sob, he realised that's the only sound he's made. Mark's voice was starting to pierce through the deadliness and get through to him.

 

“What’s going on? You have to breathe. Everything is ok just - just take a big breath in, you’re so shallow right now.”

 

Hyuck wanted to tell him it's the air that feels so terrible. The air that's literally fucking everywhere. Everywhere all the time. He can't escape it. No deep breaths will help him run away from it.

 

“What triggered this? Hm?” 

 

His voice was annoyingly calm. How can he be calm right now? Hyuck felt like he wanted to give up and let himself die, and Mark was so okay that it made him angry. 

 

“Oh shit, was it that painting? With the paint on it?” 

 

Why did he bring that up? Hyuck’s eyes water and he lets out yet another big sob and allows his breaking heart take over his body. He punched the floor and screamed.

 

“Donggie, Donggie please.”

 

That fucking nickname. He hasn't called him that for weeks, why is he trying to care now? Nobody cares, nobody ever will.

 

“Fuck off, Mark!” Hyuck shouts it at the top of his lungs.

 

***

 

Hyuck calmed down eventually, but he was too embarrassed to tell Mark about why he got so angry at him. That was a bad decision, of course, as all it did was make Mark feel so incredibly disconnected and helpless that he ended up saying Hyuck’s line back at him. 

 

They didn’t share a goodnight kiss that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry donghyuck i rlly love you


	3. last dance

“I'm sorry, Donghyuck, better luck next time, hm?”

 

I've never seen Hyuck look so angry. He stared at the man across from him, who practically tossed his paintings back at him, with no consideration of the hours upon hours he spent perfecting each detail. His paintings were just that, perfect. Sometimes, he wonders if it's because they’re so hyper realistic that he gets rejected every single time he tries to submit to this stupid gallery. They liked weird things. Lee Taemin, their number one contributor who has displayed his art countless times at the gallery had paintings that were single black lines on a plain white canvas, a piece of wood with nothing special about it apart from the fact it's called ‘want.’ Hyuck just took a deep breath. 

 

“Thank you for looking through them, sir.”

 

He got up before he could hear a response. Not like that dick said anything anyway. Grabbing his paintings and hurridley shoving them into his carrier, speed walking out of the room without saying goodbye. When he reached the door however, something stopped him in his tracks. A question. He stood in the door frame with his eyes closed, taking what seemed like the hundreth deep breath of the day. There was something he had to know. He whipped himself around and cleared his throat before he could chicken out. 

 

“Sir,”

 

Nothing.

 

“Sir.” he said again, louder this time.

 

Still, he just sat there looking at his phone, like the prick he is. 

 

“Excuse me, sir.” he said through his teeth.

 

“What is it, Donghyuck?”

 

“Do you know about my — uh — about my — do you — actually you know what, it doesn't matter. Goodbye, sir. Have a good day.” And so he chickened out. Typical.

 

He ran out of there, and threw his paintings, along with the carrier, straight in the recycling bin. He ran home as fast as he could, considering his blurred vision from the tears threatening to fall.

 

Meanwhile, Mark had just woken up for the day and headed to the kitchen to start making breakfast for him and Hyuck. He'd wondered why he woke up to such an empty house, and considering the events of last night, he panicked. The tornado of Hyuck was normally peacefully still sleeping next to him on Saturdays. That was of course until he went to cross off the day on the calendar, and realized what today was, thanks to his partners terrible handwriting. 

 

SATURDAY 15TH SEPT.

gallery day

apt at 9am

gross !!

 

Gallery day. The day Mark dreaded the most. He said a quick prayer in hopes of Hyucks painting finally being bought. He doesn't like to ask for material things like that, but it's worth a shot, right? The atrocious pink apron, which nobody other than Mark can stand — because it's fucking ugly — was soon over his pajamas. He got to work on the pancakes, soft, big, and covered in blueberries, just the way Hyuck liked. He sang along to the radio, spinning around as he moved around the kitchen, using his spoon as a microphone, and occasionally a guitar. How embarrassing. His grin faltered however, when he heard the front door slam shut. Hard. 

 

Before Mark could ask him how it went, he was spun around and Hyuck’s shaking, crying figure was pressed against him, cheeks already damp and wetting his shoulder. Mark silently squeezed him as hard as he could, one hand resting flat against his back, and the other coming up to scratch the back of his head, running his hands through his curly mess. 

 

“Just breathe. I believe in you. Next month you’ll do even better. It’ll be the one, I just know it.” He whispered into his hair.

 

“It's not just the paintings. Mark you say things like that every single time. It's been years, I- I just want to do well. I want to make money from this.” He stopped to let out a big sob. “I want to support us. It's not fair that you go to work almost every single day, come home, look after my sorry ass, go to sleep, and do it all over again. And-and what do I do? I just sit in a fucking dining room and paint! I want to have a purpose, Mark.”

 

“Look at me.” He replied sternly, grabbing the other and holding him by his shoulders firmly in front of him. “You are my boyfriend, you're my partner, you're my better half, and your commitment and talent for art is one of the things I admire so much about you. So what if that cunt at the gallery doesn't see it?”

 

Hyuck gasped at the word. And rightfully so. Mark Lee.

 

“I do, I see how much you put into this.”

 

“I don’t know if I can do this Mark. I need to be able to provide”

 

“I make enough money.”

 

“No you don’t. Maybe you should find someone who can actually appreciate you for the amazing guy you are.”

 

There was a pause.

 

“When's the last time we went a day without having an argument over my art?” he continued. “When’s the last time we made love? When’s the last time we went on a date that wasn’t a stay-at-home-and-binge-watch-things-date. I can't do this. Yesterday, you were being so… so lovely. And it was annoying. I was annoyed at you. How can I live like that?”

 

There was an even longer pause. Mark finally opened his mouth to protest but nothing apart from one phrase could come out. A dumb phrase that he already knew the answer to. But he said it anyway.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

They stare at each other for what seems like hours, but in reality was only long enough for the radio to come off ad break and announce a new song.

 

“This one goes out to all of you who are having’ a bit o’ trouble! Let's hope this doesn't make everything’ worse, eh?”

 

‘It started out as any other story, 

then the words begin to fade away’

 

They keep staring at each other. Hyuck started crying again, and Mark felt a lump forming in the back of his throat. What does he mean? Is he breaking up with him? What’s going on? What the fuck is going on? 

 

‘Oh your smile used to make me smile,

But lately i don’t feel that way’

 

A hot tear fell from Marks eye and he lets out a sob, bringing his hands from the others shoulders up to his cheeks, cupping his face and wiping away the tears with his thumbs. 

 

‘Try to remember what brought us together

And to forget what’s driving us apart.

You know we can't wait here forever

Just making time and going

Nowhere’

 

Hyuck tells Mark his hands are cold, and they both let out exasperated laughs, before Mark sobs again. The brunet brings him in for a hug, both their bodies shaking, cries wracking through them, fears of the unknown surrounding them like a heavy fog. They move from foot to foot, spinning slowly. Mark took hyucks head into his hands and lay it onto his chest. They spin and spin until the song ends.

 

‘Is this our last dance?

Or can we take another chance

To be

Alone together still.

 

Are wasting time chasing dreams

Not yours or mine?

Care for you 

I always will’

 

Hyuck left that afternoon. He told Mark when he already has his coat on that he was going to stay with his sister tonight, and left. He left Mark crying curled up on their sofa. 

 

Hyuck was actually gone for three nights. He did call Mark each morning, just letting him know he was alive, but the words didn't satisfy Mark at all. He was so scared, and who wouldn't be? Your supposedly great relationship — despite being a bit rocky — was suddenly in jeopardy because your boyfriend can't sell his paintings? He was so confused.   He was so sad. He didn’t know what to do.

 

After the fourth day, Mark comes home from work to see Hyuck’s car in the driveway. He runs faster than he's ever run before to the house, dropping his keys in the hurry to unlock the front door. He came face to face with Hyuck when he stood up, the door opened from the inside. 

 

“Mark I was just leaving I-”

 

“No. Enough. Talk to me. What the fuck is going on?”

 

Yeah Donghyuck. What the fuck is going on? Even I have no clue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its litterally 6am right now and i haven't slept im always on my grind for this fic


	4. chicken, soup, and salad

The two of them sat in silence. The type of silence that was suffocating, the type that's awkward and the type that makes you want to do absolutely anything to break it. They both sat facing each other on the sofa, a tray of hot food separating their crossed legs. The steam from the meal Mark prepared filled their senses with delicious smells, yet neither of their stomachs growled and shot through the quiet. The chicken, salad, and soup remained untouched. The tension was obvious, and they were both waiting painfully for the other to say something. After another agonising minute or two of avoiding eye contact and ear ringing nothingness, Mark spoke up.

 

“So. Are we broken up now, or what? I just want to fucking know. Is this it? Is this it for us?”

 

Nothing else was said for a few minutes. Hyuck refuses to look up from his chicken as he replies.

 

“I-. I think so. For now.” he looked up, the movement causing tears to spill. “Just for now. Can we- uhm.” he coughs, his voice kept cracking and squeaking. “Can we take a break? I really need to sort myself out, Mark.”

 

“Why can’t you do that with me?” 

 

They were both crying now. 

 

“Why? I love you so much. So much. I can't lose you. Please.”

 

Hyuck didn’t reply. Hearing those words, he couldn't stop thinking about the times he let Mark down, the times he shut himself out, the times he's gotten rejected. He felt the air thicken again, and he had no choice but to puncture it. The floor was too soft, there was no wall close enough, and the small coffee table was too far away from the sofa.

 

Hyuck grabbed the tray of food and threw it to the floor. The chicken fell, a bowl broke in two, the soup was soaking into the carpet. His anger faded and he was suddenly so very aware of what he’d just done. 

 

“Get out! Ok, that's it! We’re on a break. See you around, Hyuck.” Mark angrily pointed towards the front door. Just as Hyuck takes pride in his paintings, Mark takes pride in his food. That's his art.

 

The door slams, and Mark is alone once again. 

 

Fucking hell, these two.

 

***

 

Time goes by. To be exact, a month goes by. To be even more exact, 30 days and 12 hours. Mark was counting. It was the 15th of October, and Mark quickly realised that today was gallery day. As soon as he saw the calendar, and saw the scribbly handwriting that he's come to associate with valentine's day cards, art, and love letters, something in him pangs. 

 

15TH OCT 

gallery day

apt at 10am don't forget

 

Without thinking twice, Mark picked up the phone and called Hyuck for the first time in what seemed like years. He knew that he was being stupid, but the 30 days dragged on so much that Mark felt like some kind of wartime wife waiting for her husband to come home. 

Hyuck’s voice rang through the phone almost immediately, and as soon as Mark heard him, he froze. The hauntingly beautiful ‘Hi, Mark’ that wouldn't stop repeating through his head made his brain shut down slightly. He felt a lump forming in the back of his throat as he tried to speak, opening and closing his mouth, trying and failing to conjure a coherent sentence. What came out ended up being a quiet, dumb sounding sentence.

 

“I saw it's gallery day today.”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

There was a pause, and Mark could physically feel the awkwardness that oozed through the phone.

 

“...well,  good luck.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

More of a pause. Mark chewed on his lip, ripping off skin and making him taste blood.

 

“Mark, I have to go. I’ll be late.”

 

“...ok,”

 

He hung up and mark put the phone back down, butterflies in his tummy, he felt like he was fourteen again, talking to his crush. He missed Hyuck.

 

A lot.


	5. mint and coconut

Mark was going through his night time routine, aka, crying, making some food, crying again, brushing his teeth, crying once more, watching some tv, having a good cry, and then going to bed, while he cries himself to sleep. As you can guess, he wasn't really dealing with Hyuck’s absence well. As he was on his third cry of the night, he heard keys in the door. He froze, time seemed to stand still and even his tears seemed to stop rolling down his face. His heart started pounding and his tummy was in knots. Half of him wanted to jump up from the sofa and the other half wanted to sink so far down that he wouldn't be seen. He contemplated his options for too long, and remained frozen until he heard Hyuck’s voice. The voice that he loved more than anything, the voice that sounded so warm and so comfortable. The voice of home.

 

“Mark,”

 

He unfroze and shot up from where he was sitting, face to face, finally, after 31 days and 17 hours of not seeing each other. Hyuck looked equally as effected as Mark. His cheeks were not as chubby, his eye bags had gotten so much worse, and his once clear skin had broken out in spots and blemishes.

 

“Hyuck,”

 

They both stared at each other for a few second more, until they both, without hesitation or any warning, were in each other's arms. Hyuck was cold from the outside winter air and he smelled like mint, Mark was warm and he smelled like coconuts. They squeezed each other so hard that when Hyuck adjusted his position to squeeze even harder, Mark genuinely let out a wheeze. 

 

“I miss you so much,” Hyuck mumbled into Marks chest, sniffling a tiny bit. Mark felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as much as he's sad that Hyuck is sad, knowing that he wasn't the only one feeling like his world was crumbling made him feel a lot better about being so miserable. 

“I miss you too, Donggie.”

 

“Let’s sit down, I have to tell you stuff.”

 

They moved to the sofa. The first thing Hyuck notice was the stain in the carpet, and he felt a painful pang in his chest. 

 

“First of all, Mark, I'm so sorry about what I did. It was so- it was so aggressive and I ruined your work and I stained the carpet and — and I don't… and I don't expect you to uh forgive me, but I just want you to know how sorry I am.”

 

Mark was still upset about it, but he could definitely forgive the other. Looking into his eyes and seeing how upset he was, hearing in his voice how broken he was, that was enough for Mark to decide that Hyuck was worth the world.

 

“Of course I can forgive you. I’d forgive anything. That’s what people do when they’re in love.”

 

They shared such genuine and big smiles. It felt so refreshing to both of them to be able to smile wide and real after so long being so sad. Hyuck stared at Mark, looking into his eyes, mapping his face, noticing how beautifully his eyes shone. The hazel orbs, speckled with gold, that sparkled with any light, holding his emotions so clearly. Hyuck thought they looked like a warm fire, and he found it hard to look away. And so he didn't.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

He smiled after he finally ripped himself from the others eyes.

 

“I went to the doctors with my sister, I’m gonna start going to therapy. I'm sorry that I was so stupid and taking everything out on you when I was so sad.”

 

“I'm so proud of you Hyuck. Truly.”

 

They once again just stared at each other until Hyuck broke the comfortable silence.

 

“Can we go upstairs? I wanna lie down, I’ve been sleeping on her sofa, it's the most uncomfortable thing in the world.”

 

They laughed and walked upstairs.

 

“We also need to talk more about us and what happened and stuff, unfortunately.”

 

“Yeah, I know” Mark replied, kind of dreading that Hyuck was going to around and say that he's changed his mind, and that he's going to leave him for good anyway.

 


	6. sm gallery of arts

Mark comes to in an empty bed, the body that he fell asleep with gone. He yawns and stretches, remembering last night and how they had stayed up until the early morning, talking about Hyuck and his mental health, weighing their options, and coming to the natural conclusion that Hyuck was being a ‘dramatic bitch’ in his words, and that they could make it work. He smiled and then smirked when he remembered what happened after. I’ll spare you the details of that. Gross. As much as Mark would love to lay there and think about his newly revived boyfriend, he needed to find out where the real Hyuck was. He didn't even have to leave his bed before he hears an ear splitting shriek. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen. 

 

“You okay?” He shouted

 

“I’m fine!” Hyuck replied.

 

He was not fine. In fact, he was so tremendously not fine that he was bordering insanity. He was trying to do something nice, to properly apologize for being a ‘dramatic bitch’ and scaring Mark because he was insecure, but the plan wasn’t going too well. Twice now he had burned the eggs, but the stoves culprit this time was his finger. He stood, nursing the wound, when he remembered the eggs. He rushed over. Three sets off eggs. Ruined. And they’re all out of eggs. He groaned, emptied what hadn’t stuck to the pan into the bin, and put the pan to soak. He’ll just say sorry with his words instead.

 

Mark emerged from the stairs looking positively angelic. His black hair was sticking up in all angles and flopping over his eyes, allowing his tan skin to shine. A white t shirt hung off him and his sweatpants ‘made his bum pop’ as he liked to say. Hyuck rushed over to give him a kiss. 

 

“What was that for?” Mark giggled as he threw his arms around the others neck.

 

“I'm sorry” 

 

“You already said that”

 

There was more giggling.

 

“I know. But you looked so sad!”

 

“I was!”

 

“I'm sorry!”

 

They both laughed and Mark pinched the other’s cheek. 

 

“Oh! and we’re out of eggs.”

 

“I’ll go and get some.”

 

They shared yet another kiss. I kind of wish they didn’t make up. This is cheesy.

 

As Mark threw on his coat straight over his sleep clothes and  grabbed his wallet, striding towards the door, when he stood on a letter. They never get mail, Mark picked it up nonchalantly, expecting to see a red stamp of ‘MR LEE. CONFIDENTIAL’ and was pleasantly surprised when he saw it addressed to the other instead. 

 

“Donggie! You have mail!”

 

Mark had never — in his whole seven years of knowing Hyuck — seen his boyfriend move so quickly. He sprinted with the speed of an olympic runner and snatched the letter out of Marks hand, ripping it open with equal vigour. 

 

“Woah woah woah, calm down!” Mark tried and failed to stop Hyuck moving at two times speed.

 

Hyuck skimmed the letter and Mark began to see tears well up in his eyes, but before he had even half a chance to ask what was wrong, Hyuck grinned and started jumping up and down on the spot, before choosing to expel his energy by running around the apartment and screaming instead. Mark was laughing so hard that he was also crying. 

 

“Whats wrong Hyuck, oh my god let me in on it!”

 

Once Hyuck had reached him again, he grabbed his shoulder with one hand and waved the letter in front of his face with the other. 

 

“They bought my painting Mark. I'm gonna feature! My work is gonna be displayed! Mark they bought my painting!” 

 

Hyuck screamed once again and held the paper to his chest, laughing and closing his eyes, truly blissed out. Mark couldn't contain himself, his face brightened up even more in an instant and his eyes practically disappeared from how wide he was smiling. Mark charged at him and wrapped his arms around the other’s middle, lifting him up in the air and spinning them around quickly, Hyuck’s giggles echoing throughout the room, turning into full blown laughter when he was put down, arms coming up to grab Mark’s cheeks and grab them, pulling his face down and kissing him all over his face. Mark swatted him away after a good thirty seconds.

 

“I'm so proud of you!” He shouted at the top of his lungs even though Hyuck was literally standing in front of him.

 

“Thank you so much!” He yelled back. Maybe yelling was their new thing. Lord help us.

 

They hugged again and as much as basking in each others happy embrace was fun and all, Mark’s stomach was protesting.

 

“I really should go get eggs.”

 

“ok, hurry back!”

 

They share another kiss and Mark re-grabs his wallet, walking out the door with a wave. Hyuck reads the letter again, a smile plastered constantly on his face.

 

‘Dear Mr Lee Donghyuck,

 

Thank you for your continued interest in our gallery. We are pleased to tell you that the painting you submitted on 15/10/18 was successfully passed on to us, and has been chosen to be displayed at SM GALLERY from the 20/10/18 to the 15/11/18.

 

Congratulations.

 

For any inquires, please call us at XXXX-XXXX

 

SM GALLERY OF ARTS’

 

He read it over and over and over again. His work was finally going to get out there. The gallery gets hundreds of visitors every single day, including many critics and buyers. This could be his chance to finally make something of himself. 

 

When Mark got back they ate so many eggs that it was concerning, and spent the day wrapped up on the sofa watching reruns of their favorite tv shows. (Mark even took the day off work to ‘celebrate’)


	7. guilt

When the twentieth came around and it was time for the gallery to change their exhibition to the one with Hyucks on display, they both woke up way too early, too excited to go back to sleep. Hyuck had to leave early to get there before opening so he could set up properly and prepare himself to answer any questions that critics, the public, or reporters had to ask. As he was leaving, Mark fussed over him like a grandma.

 

“Have you got your wallet?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What about your teeth? Have you brushed and flossed?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you have a drink and snacks?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Is your phone charged?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Right, call me if you need anything ok?”

 

Mark brushed off Hyuck’s shoulders and straightened his jacket before running his hands through his hair and picking at his cheeks, cleaning off invisible dirt. Hyuck’s wrist came up and stopped him, staring in his eyes.

 

“Mark, I’ll be fine. I've been rehearsing this in my head for years, I can do it.”

 

Marks face softened. 

 

“Okay. Go make me proud. I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

They smiled at each other and Hyuck left, leaving mark to twiddle his thumbs and try to keep himself busy until noon when they opened for the public. 

 

***

 

When the time came for Mark to walk into the vast white hall, clutching his ticket tight to his chest, he had never been more excited for anything. He walked slowly through, paying attention to everything on display. There was a sculpture of a nude woman, a painting of someone dancing, and an abstract piece with about twelve penises on it. Mark averted his gaze from that one quickly. He got about half way down when he saw a crowd of around ten people gathered around. Four of them had fancy looking official tags on them and one of them was talking to someone with a microphone. Mark was intrigued and walked forward to get a closer look.

 

When he got closer and he could see through the people, his heart stopped. Hyuck. He was talking very passionately with a reporter of sorts, Mark gathered, from the camera around their neck and microphone in their hand. Hyuck made brief eye contact with him, and the smile he was bearing for the reported got larger as he turned to see meet the mic once more.

 

Mark remembered to look at the painting. The actual work rather than the art that was embodied into Hyuck. When he averted his gaze and looked at the painting, a lump caught in his throat.

 

The painting was simple, a plain white background, but what took up most of the area was a detailed and confusingly realistic drawing of Marks chicken, salad, and soup. The very same that was tossed onto the floor, that ruined so much, that Mark can't bring himself to make ever again. It looked good enough to eat. He started choking up, but it wasn't until he saw the sign underneath it that he had to turn away and take a few deep breaths so he wouldn't cry in front of everyone.

 

Lee Donghyuck

‘guilt’

 

***

 

Mark had a look around at some of the other pieces, and got chatting to a guy called Taeil, quickly realising he was the one who had done penis work. Turns out he started drawing them on desks at school and ‘discovered their inner beauty.’ Needless to say, Mark took the guys phone number. It's not everyday you stumble upon a man with a fascination for penises. He had just got done talking to him and began devouring all the assorted snacks when he heard someone running. He turned around and there was Hyuck, running towards him at a full force. He grunted as they he crashed into him and hugged him back. 

 

“What do you think of the painting?”

 

Hyuck looked so beautiful, his face was flushed and smiley, he looked so much more alive now. The most happy Mark has seen him in a long time. 

 

“I love it, Donggie. I really do.”

 

“Thank you.” He looked around slowly before quickly pressing a lightning quick kiss to Mark’s lips. “Are you ready to leave? You didn't have to stay here till closing you know dumby”

 

Mark knew that, but he wanted to be near Hyuck so badly after all the time they spent apart, even if it was on the other side of a hall talking to a stranger about the different types of dick.

 

“Wasn't a problem, darling. I'm ready to go if you are.”

 

“Just one thing before we do.”

 

Hyucks eyes glistened with mischief, his face read ‘I'm gonna fuck shit up’ and Mark was nervous. 

 

“Oh no. have you got a bomb or something? You look like a supervillain.”

 

“No silly oh my God, don't say that. I just have to ask someone a question, that's all.”

 

He fluttered his eyelids. Mark didn't buy his innocence, but followed him anyway. They walked to the opposite end of the hall, where a bald, tall man was packing up a table.

 

“Excuse me sir!” Hyuck said it in a sing-song voice.

 

The man turned around after a solid ten seconds, and met Hyucks eyes with a scowl.

 

“What is it Donghyuck?”

 

“Mark, this is Mr. Kwon, he's the guy that's rejected me dozens of times!” Hyuck sounded way too happy when he said that. Mark was terribly confused. All he knew is that he had a very strong urge to punch the prick in the nose.

 

“And I’ve come to ask him a question. One that I've been meaning to ask for a very long time.”

 

The three of them stood in silence. Hyuck took two steps forward until he could probably smell Mr. Kwon's sweaty head and putrid breath. 

 

“I know you’re aware of my lifestyle, sir. I know you’re aware that that sexy piece of ass standing right there is my boyfriend, and I know that you run an anti-lgbt facebook page.”

 

Mr. Kwon looked very taken aback. So did mark. Hyuck was even shocked at the bravery of his words, though he didn't show it.

 

“So tell me, Sir. Is that why you rejected me all those years? Hm? Is it because I’m a faaag? Huh?!”

 

There was a brief  pause. Mark was silently egging Hyuck on. ‘That's my boyfriend! Whoop!’ doing loops in his head.

 

“I just don't agree with the lifestyle.”

 

Hyuck chuckled before dead panning.

 

He punched him in the face.

 

As him and Mark were running away, Mark shouted at him. “What do you think you’re doing? You’ll never be allowed back!”

 

There was no reply, only laughs, and when they finally came to a stop, Hyuck laughed again. 

 

“I don't need SM anymore. I got a deal with a guy. I'm gonna be selling my paintings with him, he loves my other works, and I'm gonna be presenting them in a travelling exhibition that he owns. I've done it, Mark.” They kissed in the middle of the street, and walked back home hand in hand.

 

I guess you could call it a happy ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its over :(<3 if you read this thank you so much please give kudos and comments are all very appreciated!! goodnight <3

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god thank you so much for taking an interest in this!
> 
> also thank you to my best boy killian for spending two hours w me editing and reviewing this at 5am i love you <3.
> 
> would also like to point out that this is heavily heavily heavily inspired by Sekai No Owaris sasanqua, you should check it out.


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